


Without Your Permission

by GloriaMundi



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Humiliation, Masturbation, Mind Control, POV Second Person, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-14
Updated: 2008-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent." (Eleanor Roosevelt).<br/>What you want, what you get, what you're given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Your Permission

You want it. There's no denying that. You want it, and what does that make you?

_You're a whore. You're so hungry for it, aren't you? I could just do ... this._

It feels good. It feels so good you're going to come: just from this, you're going to come again. There are people, men, watching you from the bottom of the steps: let them watch. They don't know what they're seeing, don't know what it is that feels so good (so good inside) that your breath's ragged and your mouth's half-open in rapture, half-open as if you're about to cry out.

You don't cry out.

_Slut. Desperate little slut. You wish it was a man's cock, don't you? Wish it was a cock pushing into you, making you wet, making you moan. Moan, Vala. Come on. Give it up._

You're sore, because this is the third time today: the first was fingers, and the second was a whole hand, her hand. This time it's a miando fruit, as long as your forearm, as thick as ... as a ... you can fit your fingers round it, push it into yourself slowly, feel yourself stretch around it, feel the lumps and ridges on the tough russet skin. You like the feel of it: you _enjoy_ the feel of it. You don't mind bringing yourself off with this, not at all, because --

_Slut. Whore. Desperate for it. What if I tell one of them, one of the men down there, to throw you down and take you like the whore you are? You'd love it, wouldn't you, Vala? Love the feel of his cock in you. That's what you want, but you don't deserve it._

It _is_ what you want. Exactly what you want. You want to be pushed down on the mosaic floor and fucked. You concentrate on wanting it, because she never gives you what you want.

She's speaking again, speaking to the men who wait on her every word, and her voice is thick and heavy with arousal. Your arousal. You don't let the words in. She's inside you too far already, in too many ways.

The miando is slippery now and you can feel yourself tightening around it, those secret slick muscles holding on tight, holding holding letting go. It feels so good. You like it, love it, want it. It's _yours_. It ripples through you like a flood in a dry stream-bed, like blood in a vein, like honey, like sunlight, like love.

_Take it out. Take it out of yourself. Peel it and eat it. Show them all how much you want it in your mouth. Make them want to be in your mouth. Maybe later I'll let them._

You don't argue. Arguing makes it a fight. If it's a fight, she's winning: she's won. You don't fight, not where she can see.

The robe you're wearing is loose enough, and you've done this before: you flex and push and force the miando out of your body without any fuss, beneath the draped linen, and then produce it as if from a pocket. Maybe they can see how wet it is. Maybe they can smell that salt-sea scent, the way you can. None of them says a word as you begin, neatly and quickly, to peel the slippery nubbed skin from the fruit: as you run your tongue around the juicy tip of it, as you bite down, as you sigh in pleasure at the sharp sweet taste.

_You're a greedy whore, Vala. You always want it, don't you?_ You smile serenely at the men standing silent, straight-backed, below. You don't permit yourself to think, even for an instant, that she sounds ... sullen. Disappointed. Cheated.

_You want it again already. Greedy needy empty whore. Can't bear not to be filled. Can't bear to be empty._

_I'll never be empty again,_ you think carefully, clearly, precisely. _Not now you're with me, Qetesh._

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> written for the **kink_bingo** challenge, 'humiliation (private)'. The title is a riff on Eleanor Roosevelt's remark that "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent".


End file.
